


The Darker Side of Fear

by enigmaticblue



Series: A Sentinel and Guide in the SGC [11]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: John realized two things: one, that he was royally fucked, and two, that no one would suspect he’d been kidnapped and chances were good no one would be looking for him.
Relationships: Jim Ellison & Blair Sandburg, Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jim Ellison
Series: A Sentinel and Guide in the SGC [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/63437
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	The Darker Side of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt: sensory deprivation. This takes place during All Roads Lead Home from John's perspective.

John stepped out of his apartment for the first time in a week, finally deciding that he needed to do something to get the shambles of his life in order. He needed groceries primarily—there was nothing left to eat in his apartment—and he was running out of clean laundry but had no detergent.

He had military ID on him, but his bank and credit cards had disappeared somewhere in Afghanistan between his fucked up rescue mission, his Article 15, and then getting shipped home for two weeks of mandatory leave prior to reassignment.

Which, of course, meant that he needed to hit the bank to fill out a request for a new debit card and get cash to buy groceries and other supplies.

John filled out the form, endured the chirped “thank you for your service” from the teller, and was told he’d have a new card in 7 to 10 business days. He hid a sigh and wished he’d had the forethought to do this sooner, because he might not have that much time before he shipped out.

His commanding officer had been almost kind—and certainly had been nicer than John expected him to be. He could have faced a general court martial and an other than honorable discharge, but Colonel Howe pointed out that had John’s rescue mission been successful, he probably would have received a medal. As it was, the loss of his men was its own punishment.

Of course, Howe hadn’t wanted John in his command either, and he’d made a comment about John cooling his heels for the remainder of his career.

John wasn’t stupid; he knew that meant he’d be shuffled off to some dead-end posting where he’d get passed over for promotion enough times he’d have to cash out, or he’d end up resigning his commission out of sheer boredom.

He should probably care about that more than he did, but he couldn’t summon up anything but mild annoyance at the fact that his dad had been right all along.

John _had_ fucked up his future, and he’d fucked up others’ lives, although at least he hadn’t run an entire company into the ground, which was what he probably would have done if he’d followed his dad’s prescribed path.

He had tucked his wallet away and was heading back towards his rental car when he felt a sharp prick in the back of his neck. His knees went weak almost immediately, and a solicitous voice said, “Let me help you, sir. We’ll get you to the hospital.”

And then everything went dark.

~~~~~

John woke abruptly, but it was a fractured, chaotic waking. He was aware of the beeping of machines—maybe medical in nature, and from what he remembered, he’d collapsed—but there was also the feel of restraints around his wrists and ankles and people holding him down.

His muscles seized again, and he went rigid, and he heard voices shouting instructions he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Give him another 5 ccs of Haldol!” someone shouted, the only words he could make out.

And everything went blessedly dark again.

~~~~~

He thought he might have woken up a few other times, although he was never sure later on. When he finally reached full awareness, he found himself in a windowless cell with padded walls. There was a thin mattress on the floor, a combination sink and toilet in one corner, and a door with a slot that apparently bolted from the outside. He was wearing only a thin set of scrub pants and a white t-shirt.

As reality began to sink in, John realized two things: one, that he was royally fucked, and two, that no one would suspect he’d been kidnapped and chances were good no one would be looking for him. Instead, they’d probably declare him AWOL, which meant rescue was not forthcoming.

Who kidnapped an Air Force pilot and did—whatever it was they were doing to him?

John resolutely shoved those thoughts out of his mind. He couldn’t control what anybody out there was doing or thinking; he could only control himself, and his first duty was to escape.

The problem with that quickly became obvious by the third or fourth day. There was no stimulation, no window to the outside, and nothing in the room that could be used as a weapon. He was fed twice a day, once shortly after the light came on in the morning, and a second time just before it went off at night. There was a lack of stimulation there, too, because it was always a bland shake in a plastic pouch with no flavor, and it came through the slot in the door. No one said anything to him, just dropped the pouch and left.

On the fourth day, John figured his best bet was to stop eating to force a reaction. He skipped two meals before he heard a hiss. He was unconscious a few moments later, and when he woke up, he was still in his cell, but his throat felt sore, and his stomach was overly full.

John was pretty sure they’d put a nasogastric tube down his throat, fed him, and then put him back in his cell, all while he was unconscious.

That wasn’t great. Clearly, they weren’t going to take any chances, and they weren’t interested in interacting with him.

“What do you want from me?” John screamed in frustration, pounding on the door. “Tell me what you want!”

But there was no answer.

~~~~~

John kept track of the days as best he could, using his fingernail to scratch the padded wall with a tick mark each morning. After seven days, he got a repeat of the gas, and when he woke up, he was back in his cell wearing clean clothes, his skin feeling a bit raw, like they’d scrubbed him down _hard_.

He felt sick and shaky for the next day or two, and he had no idea what they were giving him, but he suspected they’d drugged him with more than just the gas.

John had been trying to keep up with some calisthenics, but he found himself unable to do much more than crawl between his mattress and the door for the next two days.

Lying on his mattress, John felt his skin begin to crawl, and he started seeing things that weren’t there. He began to hear things as though there were people in the room with him, but that sense came and went.

After a couple of days, he felt a little better, and he started doing pushups and sit ups again just to stay in shape and for something to do.

In that tiny cell, John found himself going back over old missions, thinking about what had happened in Afghanistan, imagining all the ways he could have rescued his men, all of the things he might have done differently.

He worked out to the point of exhaustion, just so he could sleep, but even that didn’t help. Then the rash started up, although it seemed to come and go the way hearing things did, or the way his sight would go fuzzy and then sharpen again.

A few days went by, and there was a repeat of the previous week, and John realized they had some kind of schedule worked out, even if he didn’t know what they were doing or what they wanted.

The question ate at him—what did they want out of him? What were they trying to accomplish? It was clear they had some goal in mind, but what could it be?

John would have preferred to be captured by the Taliban. At least he would have known how to respond, what to do—keep his mouth shut and resist as best he could. He would have known what the Taliban wanted with him.

When he started hearing whole conversations, he knew he was going crazy, although he kept his mouth shut about it.

“The subject does seem to be exhibiting some environmental sensitivities,” someone said. “I can’t tell whether it’s clinically significant, though.”

“We should stick with the isolation,” was the reply. “The signs indicate that we’re having some success, although I think it will take at least another two weeks before he’s ready for the next stage.”

John was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what the next stage would be, but he couldn’t figure out how to escape—one way or another.

He thought he was in week four when his hearing seemed to snap into place and go into overdrive. While he couldn’t be certain that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, John thought he could hear everything going on in the building where they were keeping him, and he couldn’t shut it off.

They talked about the subject—which was him, unless they had another prisoner—and the next stage a lot, but never in the kind of detail that would tell John what they were after.

And then about four weeks after that, right before they were planning to start the next phase, he heard something way out on the periphery, whispered voices using the same clipped orders he had used while in the field.

John stretched out his hearing as far as it could go—and then he was just gone.

~~~~~

He came back to himself, coughing at the burning in his nose and sinuses. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and a calm voice said, “Major Sheppard, are you back with us?”

John felt a stirring of home. It was the first time he’d heard his name in weeks, the first time he could feel someone touching him in a gentle manner. The use of his rank indicated that this was a very unexpected rescue from the military; they hadn’t declared him AWOL after all.

He still had to ask, though. “What—who are you?”

“Major Jim Ellison, US Army Rangers, and this is Dr. Blair Sandburg,” he replied. Sharp blue eyes regarded John steadily. “We’re here to rescue you.”

John took a deep breath, the feeling of relief tantalizing, but he couldn’t relax just yet. He still had no idea what just happened. One minute he was straining to hear them, and the next moment he was—not there.

“I didn’t know anybody was looking for me. I don’t know what they _wanted_ from me.”

“I know,” Ellison said. “I promise, we’ll explain everything, but we need to get you out of here and to a safe location.”

John wanted out of this room, even if it meant leaping from the frying pan into the fire. “Anywhere is better than here.”

He didn’t know that he could trust these people, not really, since he had no idea who had grabbed him in the first place. Still, he didn’t see that he had another choice. He definitely wanted out, and if it turned out that he had to escape later, at least he stood a better chance of that _there_ than he did _here_.

And if they knew what had been done to him, all the better.

The short, stocky man with Ellison said, “You may feel strange, but I promise we’ll explain as soon as we’re safe. The important thing to know is that you’re not going crazy, and you really are experiencing what you think you are.”

John knew he was hearing things he shouldn’t be hearing, and when Ellison led him out of the cell, he had no problem seeing in the very little light in the hallway. Everybody else wore night vision goggles, but not Ellison, and not John.

His thoughts were a little too sluggish to put the picture together, but the pieces were all there.

He heard a shot being fired, and it sounded like it went off right next to him, although no one else seemed to respond. John stumbled and would have fallen, but Ellison held him steady with a warm, firm grip that felt good.

John had been so long without human contact he didn’t try to shake off Ellison’s hand, even though he didn’t normally like anybody touching him.

They reached what was apparently the point of egress, and John noted they’d come in through an elevator shaft. There were ropes hanging down, and John realized they were all wearing harnesses.

The tall, blond man wearing captain’s bars was first out, followed by the young female lieutenant. She was dark-skinned and compact, and once she was up and out, another harness was lowered.

Ellison motioned for John to put it on, but his hands were shaking so badly, he couldn’t get the buckles done up.

The guy who didn’t seem to fit, Sandburg, said, “I can help.”

But there was something about Sandburg that made John reluctant to accept the offer, although he didn’t want to say as much.

“I’ve got it. We’ll get you out of here shortly, Major,” Ellison replied, apparently reading John’s mind. His movements were quick and efficient, and when he finished, he patted John on the chest before tugging the line.

John was quickly hauled up, and the captain and lieutenant were standing by. They both steadied him as John managed to get the harness off. Sandburg was next, followed by Ellison, then the sergeant.

Ellison glanced around at his team, as though to ensure that all were accounted for, and he said, “Major, let me introduce you to my team. Captain Corey Stranger, Lieutenant Tammy Drake, Dr. Blair Sandburg, and coming up right behind you is Sergeant Devon McConnell. We’re part of a specialized unit that rescues service members in trouble. Right now, we’re taking you back to home base, which is in Cheyenne Mountain.”

When they moved out immediately after, John noticed they kept him in the middle of the formation, and no one tried to draw him into conversation.

The fact that they were a team dedicated to search and rescue made him feel a little better about his chances—assuming Ellison was being honest. John kept turning it over in his head, wondering how they’d known he was missing and how to find him. Knowing that Sandburg was a doctor, it made a little more sense that he’d be accompanying the team.

When they arrived at a troop transport, Ellison and McConnell steadied John as he climbed inside. The others all piled in, and John noticed that they made sure Ellison was seated next to John with Sandburg sitting just across.

As the transport started bouncing along, John finally asked, “Where are we?”

He realized belatedly that he probably should have tacked on a “sir,” but Ellison didn’t say anything about it, and John was just a little too tired to care.

“We’re in Montana, about fifty miles from Malmstrom,” Ellison replied.

John was getting a little tired of being in the dark, and he couldn’t keep the disgust out of his tone as he said, “You said you’d explain.”

Ellison turned to look at Sandburg, an eyebrow cocked. “You explain it better than I do.”

“Right, well, certain people have a genetic advantage,” Sandburg said, and John could hear the leashed enthusiasm in his voice. “They have heightened senses. Sometimes it’s just one or two, like someone who has a good sense of smell and works in the perfume business. Rarely, all five senses are heightened. Jim is one of those people. And some people have the genetic disposition, but the ability has to be triggered.”

“And I’m one of _those_ people,” Sheppard said flatly. As far as he could tell, he’d spent the last two months being tortured so that he could have senses that were out of his control.

Even now, the stimuli were almost overwhelming, and it was only with a concentrated effort that he focused on the conversation.

“You are,” Sandburg replied, sounding almost apologetic. “We found you because we’ve been using the service members’ DNA database to identify those with potential. When I realized you’d gone missing, we put together a rescue.”

John had a sinking feeling. He’d known they had held him for a while, but it was possible he’d lost more time than he realized. “How long have I been missing?”

“It’s been about nine weeks,” Sandburg replied.

John closed his eyes. There would have been no one looking for him, and being gone that long—“They thought I’d gone AWOL.”

“That was the assumption,” Sandburg said. “Sorry.”

John cursed quietly, knowing that a charge of going AWOL, even if dismissed, had the potential to follow him like a bad stench. If he even had a career after this.

“We’ve got it taken care of,” Sandburg said. “They’ll know now.”

“Right,” John muttered and lapsed into silence.

Telling his next command that he’d been kidnapped and experimented on wasn’t going to save his career. John felt a sense of dismay overcome him, and he just shut down, unable to deal with any of it.

Ellison steered him to a waiting jet, and John barely registered that it was a private one, without any military markings. He wondered what kind of program they worked for, that they could field something like this for a rescue mission.

Once on board, Ellison handed him a bundle of clothes and a pair of boots, and John realized that it was the same BDUs the rest of the team was wearing, and he felt a strong sense of relief.

“There’s a place to change in the back of the jet,” Ellison said. “We’ll leave when you’re dressed.”

John’s hands were shaking as he changed out of the scrubs and into the uniform, and he felt much more put together, even though he knew he desperately needed a shave and a haircut.

John took the seat next to Ellison, and Sandburg sat down across from them. John didn’t know what it was about Sandburg that made him so uneasy, but then, he wasn’t sure about much of anything right now.

He felt the engines start up, and the vibrations made him want to crawl out of his skin. He hunched over, trying to maintain some control, barely paying attention to what Ellison and Sandburg were saying.

John knew he was close to hyperventilating when Sandburg handed him a stick of gum, the smell of mint like a punch to the face.

Ellison’s voice was low and kind as he said, “Just breathe through it.”

“I want to control it,” Sheppard said, wondering how Ellison did it.

“Okay, focus on the gum then,” Ellison said quietly. “You can taste the mint, and you can smell it. Those are two senses, and we can work on those. What does the sky look like from fifty feet up, and how do you know where you are?”

“Sight, and altimeter,” John replied readily, trying not to think about how unlikely it was that he’d fly again.

“Taste that mint, and right now, you’re right on top of it, your altimeter indicates you’re maybe twenty feet up,” Ellison said. “Can you picture that?”

Put like that, John _can_ picture it. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Ellison said. “Pull back on the stick, Shep. You want to go up to 10,000 feet, where you can barely taste it. Tell me when you’re there.”

To John, it felt like he was pulling out of a dive with an engine that didn’t want to work, but eventually, he got there, the flavor of the mint fading out to almost nothing. “I can barely taste it.”

“Good,” Ellison replied. “That’s good. Now, take it back down until the gum tastes like it always does.”

John thought he was getting the hang of it, if he looked at his sense of taste as a malfunctioning chopper that was about ready to crash.

“Do you feel up to working on your other senses, or is that going to be enough for now?” Ellison asked.

John shook his head. “No, I don’t—I’m having a hard enough time with this one.”

“Okay,” Ellison said. “That’s fine. Just try to maintain for now. Focus on the gum and let that drown out the vibrations.”

The gum was a distraction, but there was nothing that was going to drown out the engines. John had never been terribly comfortable flying when he wasn’t on the stick, but it was a lot worse now. Not only did he feel the loss of control that much more keenly, he also felt like everything _else_ was out of control.

Not only was his career lost, but if he couldn’t get control over his senses, he wouldn’t be flying again either.

And flying was all he ever wanted to do.

The next few hours until they touched down were an exercise in frustration and pain, and it was a relief when the jet landed and the pilot cut the engines. John stumbled a bit as he stood, and Ellison put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

The touch grounded him, but John didn’t want to admit that. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I know you’re okay, but I’m asking if touch helps,” Ellison said quietly. “It helped me. It’s okay.”

John nodded. “Yeah. It helps.”

“Okay, come on,” Ellison replied. “We’re going to the infirmary, okay? I’m going to be with you the whole time.”

The spike of gratitude he felt seemed pathetic to John, but he wasn’t ready to question it.

But the touch was grounding, and it helped him to focus on the here and now.

The transport to the base didn’t take long, and Ellison stayed close the entire time. When they reached Cheyenne Mountain and began to descend in the elevator, John thought he probably should be reassured. If he was in a heavily fortified base, he couldn’t be kidnapped again.

Instead, he just felt even more claustrophobic.

John didn’t even realize that he was breathing too quickly until Ellison put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Breathe, John,” he said. “You’re okay, I’m right here, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. _Breathe_.”

The words were kind and careful, and John was reminded of one of his early commanding officers, one he’d trusted without reservation, and he breathed.

“That’s it,” Ellison said. “As soon as the doc clears it, I’ll take you outside. I know you need that. It’s fine.”

And John _believed him_. That was the most amazing thing of all, that he believed anybody after that clusterfuck in Afghanistan.

Ellison had a quick word with Sandburg, who seemed disappointed for some reason. Ellison stayed at his elbow until they reached the infirmary, though, and then he was present for the tests and the blood draws, and everything else.

“I’m taking him outside real quick,” Ellison told the doctor.

“I want him under observation for at least 24 hours, Major,” the doctor said severely.

“And I’ll bring him right back,” Ellison wheedled. “Just an hour outside so he can see the sky.”

Her face softened considerably at that. “An _hour_. Time starts now, Jim.”

“Come on,” Ellison said. “She wasn’t kidding about the time limit.”

He steered John out, up the elevator, to an outside area that looked like it was well used. “Sometimes people come out here to run or eat their lunch,” Ellison offered. “Not very often, though. It’s a long way to go, and most people don’t mind working underground.”

“Do you?” John asked.

Ellison hesitated. “I got snatched, like you did, but it was different for me. I wasn’t held underground, and I was a cop when it happened, so it felt safe for me on base. To be honest, it was a struggle forcing myself to get out, and then I realized if I didn’t, I would never leave.”

John tipped his head back and stared up at the sky. “How did you do it?”

“I had Blair,” Ellison said bluntly.

John had noticed a faint note of disappointment from Dr. Sandburg that he couldn’t help more. “He’s your…” He trailed off, not wanting to judge, and not wanting to ask.

“I told you I was a cop,” Ellison replied. “He was my partner, and my roommate, and the best damn friend a guy could ask for. He was the one who figured out what was going on with me when my senses went nuts, and he helped me get control.”

John was silent for a moment. “He seemed disappointed that he couldn’t be the one to help me.”

“Sentinels were his life’s work before he became a cop,” Ellison replied. “And he likes helping people. He was the one who figured out you needed rescuing.”

“You’ll have to let me know what his favorite beer is,” John said. “I owe him a drink at least.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ellison replied. “I mean, yes, buy him a drink, but it’s what we do. We rescue people.”

“Don’t worry about not warming up to him immediately?” John asked, suddenly understanding what Ellison meant.

“That too,” Ellison said.

“What do I do now?” John asked plaintively. It was starting to hit him that it might not matter that he had a black mark on his record, or that they thought he’d gone AWOL.

He was in a secret base, and his senses were out of control. Forget flying, John might not even be able to stay in the service, and not just because of his fuck up in Afghanistan. He could wind up with a medical discharge.

Ellison put a hand on his shoulder. “You learn, you train, and we’ll figure the rest out in time.”

It wasn’t flying, John thought. He hated the thought that he might never fly again, but at least he was alive, and no longer a prisoner, and he had some idea of what was happening to him.

They sat in silence for a while, with Ellison’s hand a warm weight on his shoulder. Eventually, he said, “We have to go back in before Janet sends out a search party. If you don’t want to stay here, I have a guest room.”

“I don’t want to be an imposition,” John said stiffly.

Ellison shook his head. “No, it will be good for your training to be close, and being stressed out by the base won’t help matters. If that doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.”

John resigned himself to at least a night spent in the infirmary. “Thanks.”

“Hang in there,” Ellison replied. “You’ll get this, Shep.”

And then, as though reading John’s mind, he said, “And call me Jim, at least when we’re not on duty.”

~~~~~

The next day the next thing to torture in the busy infirmary. John mostly had taste and smell under control now, and touch wasn’t bothering him, but sight and hearing spiked continuously, and when they weren’t spiking, he was in a zone.

At the end of the observation period, Dr. Frasier didn’t want to let him go, but Jim insisted. “With all the distractions around here, he’s not going to get better. Let me take him home, and if he’s still struggling, I’ll bring him back. O’Neill gave me five days,” he coaxed.

Janet sighed. “Very well. But if there’s any change, I expect to be notified.”

John felt weird when Jim showed him down to the basement. “We’ve been working on it,” he said apologetically, “but we haven’t had as much time to spend on it as we would like. The couch folds out, though, and the bathroom works.”

John wasn’t sure what Jim meant, because the walls were a soothing gray-blue, and if the bathroom was small, it was also clean. Straight across from the couch were broad glass doors that looked out onto a green space.

He abruptly relaxed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I thought this space might be good for you,” Jim said knowingly. “You okay with steaks for dinner?”

John frowned. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim replied. “It’s my turn to cook anyway, and it’s just as easy to throw another steak on. Can you cook?”

John grimaced. “Not in the sense I can turn out actual edible food.”

Jim laughed freely at that. “Fair enough. You can contribute some other way. You okay down here by yourself for a bit?”

John nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Jim gave him a sharp look, but he seemed to take John at his word. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

John was surprised to see a duffel bag full of uniforms and some clothing that the SGC had managed to retrieve from his old apartment. He didn’t have much in his temporary housing anyway; most of his possessions were still in storage, and had been since the divorce.

But he sat down on the couch and stared out at the green space beyond, the color of the grass mesmerizing, and then he caught sight of a bird and was just gone.

The next thing he knew, Sandburg was waving an opened bag of coffee grounds under his nose and saying, “Welcome back, man. You okay? You know what you zoned on?”

“A bird, I think,” John admitted. “I just wanted to see it.”

“For the future, try to keep at least two senses engaged,” Sandburg advised. “If you want a closer look, focus on hearing the wind in the leaves, or the smell of new paint.”

Now that Sandburg mentioned it, John could definitely smell new paint, and he winced.

“Aw, shit, sorry,” Sandburg said. “We can put something down here that will mask the smell.”

“No, I think I’ll be fine,” John replied. “Thanks.”

Sandburg nodded. “Well, dinner is ready if you’re hungry.”

Abruptly, John smelled well-seared steak, and his mouth started watering. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Jim does a good steak,” Sandburg said with a ready grin. “Come on.”

The steaks were a perfectly cooked medium-rare, served with green beans and roasted potatoes, and while the food in the infirmary hadn’t been bad, it hadn’t been this good either.

John realized that it was almost impossible to zone on food, because there was so much to it—the taste, of course, but also the texture of the tender steak, the crisp green beans, the creamy potatoes. There was the smell, and John realized what Sandburg meant, that if he could focus on more than one sense at once, he could control things better.

And after so many weeks of tasteless gruel, real food was still a genuine pleasure.

John ate with a single-minded purpose, interspersed with a few comments of appreciation, and then found himself almost nodding off once he’d finished.

“Hey, why don’t you get some rest?” Jim suggested. “You look done in.”

“I should help clean up at least,” he protested through a yawn.

“You’re still recovering,” Sandburg countered. “Just rest.”

~~~~~

John was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, the bed far more comfortable than any he’d had in the last year and a half. He woke abruptly, though, a scream lodged in his throat.

He couldn’t quite remember what his dream had been about, just that it had been dark and silent, and he hadn’t been able to hear or smell or see anything. It was dark in the basement, but there was a full moon, and his eyes had no trouble adjusting to the dim light.

His breathing was harsh in his own ears, and he focused on the moonlight, on the smell of new paint, on the feeling of his clothing on his skin.

And then all of that was abruptly too much, and he wanted to scream, to claw at his skin, to—

“Shep, Shep, look at me.” Jim’s hands were warm on his shoulders. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe for me.”

Holland had called him Shep, John thought. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be okay hearing someone else call him that, but from Jim, he could handle it.

“I can’t do this,” he gasped out.

Jim’s grip firmed. “You have to. There is no alternative.”

No alternative but death, John knew, and as fucked up as everything was right now, he didn’t want to die.

“There are going to be moments when you really and truly believe that you can’t live like this,” Jim murmured. “Moments when you think about the gun safe, or some other means, and it’s going to be so fucking tempting you can’t stand it.”

John had already been there before. He’d already had those moments.

“And that’s when you’re going to tell me, and we’ll figure it out together,” Jim promised. “If I can make this better for you, or easier, I will.”

John just stared at him. “How do you do this?”

Jim smiled slightly. “Well, to be honest, I had a lot of help and a hell of a lot of therapy.”

John barked out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Yeah, okay. I don’t think therapy is going to help me.”

Jim just smirked at him. “Wait until you meet Spencer. You might change your tune. Think you can go back to sleep now?”

John gave the idea some consideration and then shook his head. “I can’t dream again tonight.”

Jim nodded, like he was expecting that answer. “That’s fine. Come on upstairs, and I’ll see if there’s something on TV.”

“I don’t want to keep you up!” John protested.

Jim shrugged. “I don’t sleep too well either these days. I have my own nightmares.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so easily, that John felt himself relax. He had no idea why he was responding to Jim like that, but it was the one thing that felt safe right now, so he wasn’t going to question it.

John pulled a hoodie on, wanting the comfort, and found Jim stretched out in the recliner in the living room, some old Schwarzenegger movie on the TV. John didn’t recognize the movie, but that wasn’t too surprising. He’d been in and out of war zones since earning his wings.

“How did you get roped into this?” John asked. “Helping me, I mean.”

Jim hummed thoughtfully. “You probably haven’t seen much news.”

“Not really, no, unless it came in a briefing.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah, I remember how that was. Like I said, I was an Army Ranger, got shot down in Peru, and was stranded for 18 months. I lost my whole team in that clusterfuck.”

John blinked rapidly. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Jim said. “The senses came online then, but I ignored them as soon as I got back to civilization, right up until I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I was on a long stakeout, isolated, and there they were again. I thought I was going insane, but Blair found me, got me back on track. We were partners, and then I got kidnapped by the same outfit that got you. He rescued me with the help of SG-1, and here we are now.”

There was a lot missing from that story, but John figured that was probably enough for now. “How do I get control?”

“Trial and error, mostly,” Jim admitted. “When you’re a little steadier, we can try adrenalin, too.”

John swallowed. “I don’t understand any of this. I guess I know why me, but…”

“Why you?” Jim asked. He took a deep, audible breath. “You’ll get all of this in a briefing over the next few weeks, but in short, there are elements inside our government that are very interested in making super soldiers to deal with alien threats, and those threats are very real.”

“But I’m useless right now,” John protested.

Jim shot him a look that was hard and uncompromising, and John could see the kind of soldier he was behind that expression. “They didn’t want _you_ , Shep. They wanted to know if they had a process to make _more_ of you.”

Pieces slotted into place, and John said, “You had the senses when they grabbed you, didn’t you? They wanted to see if they could improve on what you already had.”

“And they wanted you to see if they could trigger the senses in someone who only had the potential,” Jim confirmed. “That’s the going theory, anyway.”

John mulled that over in his head. Over two months of sensory deprivation and solitary confinement, and he emerged with senses far more powerful than most had. If given the choice, would he have done it? If someone had told him that he would have been able to rescue his team, if only he had these senses, would he have taken the risk?

He had to conclude that he would have.

“They’ll be looking for volunteers next,” John said softly.

Jim appeared troubled by the idea. “I suppose they will, although I’m not sure they realize that they were successful with you. We got to you before they could run the tests that would have confirmed it.”

John followed that train of thought to its logical conclusion. “I’m going to disappear then.”

“Not quite,” Jim replied with a quirk of his lips. “But I’m afraid you’re looking at a permanent reassignment to the SGC, and your records will probably end up on the same private server as mine, buried so deep that hopefully no one will ever find them.”

It wasn’t so different from John’s usual spec ops missions, although he suspected that the SGC was even above the clearance of the top brass he’d once served under.

“You’ll like the SGC, and I think you’ll like General Hammond,” Jim said casually. “I never thought I’d willingly serve again, but they changed my mind.”

And that’s all that was said. Before long, John found himself drifting to sleep to the low hum of the TV.

Over the next few days, John got some idea of just how fucked he was. Just as John thought he had a handle on things, his senses would spiral out of his control. On the very first day, Jim warned him that he might have some setbacks, and that progress wasn’t a straight line, but it was worse than that. John felt like it was one step forward and two steps back.

“Take a deep breath,” Jim advised.

John shook his head. His ears were still ringing from the car horn that sounded from the neighbor’s house down the road. If John’s senses were normal, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

He couldn’t catch his breath, and he’d fought through injuries before, but this was different. Nothing worked right. John had never had to fight with his senses like this.

“You can take a breath,” Jim said implacably. “So, take a breath.”

John tried, but his heart pounded, and he shut his eyes tightly. When one sense spiraled out of his control, the rest of them tended to follow.

“John, I know this is tough, but I need you to take a few deep breaths and rein it in,” Jim said, reaching out a hand and cupping the back of John’s neck. “Focus on my hand, match my breathing.”

Touch was one of the easiest senses for him to control, which meant it provided a good touchstone, and Jim didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s good,” Jim said as John’s racing heart slowed down. “Good job. Another deep breath.”

John slowly reined in the rest of his senses until he felt somewhat normal if shaky. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not, but you will be,” Jim said. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll get it.”

John gave him a disbelieving look. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” Jim said sincerely. “Because you don’t have another choice.”

John barked out a rusty laugh. “Yeah, I guess you have a point there.”

“I always have a point,” Jim replied. “Now, are you hungry?”

John grimaced. “Yeah, but I feel like I’ve done nothing but eat the last few days.”

“You’ll burn those calories off,” Jim replied. “And you need to make up some weight. You’ll probably find that your metabolism is even faster now than it was before. You have anything against lasagna?”

“Not in the least,” John replies.

Jim nodded. “Why don’t you come up and help me?”

It became clear fairly quickly that Jim didn’t actually need his help, and that Jim just wanted to keep an eye on him. John couldn’t blame him, given that he was zoning and spiking all the time.

Jim put him on the salad, and John said, “When are you going back to work?”

“You in a hurry to get rid of me?” Jim asked.

“No, I just—don’t see what you’re getting out of sitting around here and babysitting me,” John protested.

Jim gave him a look. “You’re recovering, and I’m helping. When we go back to the base and I pass you off to someone else while I’m on a mission— _that_ will be babysitting.”

John’s lips quirked up in a smile. “And who are you going to pass me off to?”

“That will depend on who’s available,” Jim replied. “But my preference would be someone who understands Sentinels.”

Sandburg entered the kitchen with a ready smile that still put John on edge. He didn’t know what it was about Sandburg that bugged him—the guy was certainly nice enough, and he seemed to really want to help, but there was just something about him that put John’s back up.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Thanks for cooking. I had that report to finish.”

“Sure, Chief,” Jim replied. “Set the table?”

John wondered where Jim’s girlfriend was. He’d seen the pictures of the two of them around the house, and he hoped that his presence wasn’t putting a damper on things.

“Do you know when Sam gets back?” Sandburg asked, apparently reading John’s mind.

“Today, if all goes according to plan,” Ellison replied. “I’m hoping she’ll stop by tonight, but it will probably depend on how her mission went.”

John figured that probably explained her absence, and he was glad that she wasn’t staying away because of him. Still, he thought he would probably try to stay out of the way that night.

Sandburg seemed to have the same idea, because as soon as he helped John clean up, he retreated upstairs, where John knew he had an office.

Over the last few days, Jim had done what he could to make the basement comfortable, including putting a small television down there, and he’d come up with a laptop for John’s use.

There were some of SGSR’s after action reports loaded on the laptop, and John was working his way through them. He was beginning to get a feel for what Ellison and his team did, and he supposed he felt grateful that they were as good at their jobs as they were. Otherwise, he’d probably still be in that padded room—or he would be dead.

John stiffened as he heard voices above him, and he stretched his hearing out slightly. He thought one of the voices was a woman’s, and his hearing dialed up a little bit more. John felt his control slipping, and so he went upstairs.

He didn’t want to interrupt, but Sam and Jim both welcomed him immediately, and Jim said, “You did the right thing.”

The warm approval in Jim’s voice had John flushing. He wasn’t sure _why_ having Jim’s approval felt so good, but John was just going to roll with it.

John enjoyed listening to Carter’s story about her latest mission, although the complications inherent in the SGC’s missions troubled him. John barely had control of his senses; how was he supposed to learn the ins and outs of their enemies and allies?

He was somewhat reassured by Jim’s statement that they had non-lethal ways of taking someone out, and that they could always shoot first and ask questions later.

John was reluctant to head back downstairs, although he tried not to let that show. He didn’t want to intrude, but he also didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts.

Jim seemed to instinctively understand that, because he cajoled John into watching a movie with them. He thought it would feel like he was a third wheel, but then Sandburg showed up, and then it just was like hanging out with friends, watching _The Princess Bride_.

When John did go to bed, he was thinking about the movie, and that night, he actually slept.

~~~~~

John wasn’t looking forward to going to the base, mostly because he barely was able to keep control at Ellison’s house, and he didn’t want anybody to see him spiking or zoning.

But at least he’d been able to get a shave and a haircut, so he looked put together.

Ellison steered him to the infirmary once they got on base. “Janet wanted to check you out, and she can keep an eye on you while we’re gone.”

John winces. “This would be the babysitter you mentioned.”

Ellison patted him on the shoulder. “It would be. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Dr. Fraiser looked him over and took another blood sample. “You’re looking much better today, Major Sheppard.”

John grimaced. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Dr. Fraiser hummed. “What’s giving you the most trouble?”

“Take your pick,” John muttered. “Mostly sight and hearing, I guess, but if one sense goes, the rest tend to follow.”

She winced in sympathy. “Well, I’d like to keep you under observation today to see if there’s something I can do for you.”

In theory, the infirmary was a good place for him, because there were people to keep an eye out for spikes and zones, but less than an hour later, John already knew it was going to be a miserable time.

There was a machine beeping that assaulted his ears on a regular basis. He tried to dial down his hearing without much luck, and then someone opened an alcohol swab, and that scent felt like a slap to the face.

John hunched in on himself, trying to keep from spiraling out of control, and so he was surprised when someone stopped in front of him.

“We haven’t met yet, but I’m Colonel Jack O’Neill, two l’s,” the man said, keeping his voice pitched low. “I’m Major Ellison’s boss, and the second-in-command on this base.”

John tried to get to his feet, knowing he was breaching protocol, but O’Neill immediately said, “Don’t bother.”

John was a little reassured to find out that O’Neill had been in on the rescue mission, and to hear that Ellison wasn’t in good shape when they found him, and that he had his bad days.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Ellison with less than perfect control yet, and it gave him hope.

And then O’Neill brought up flying.

“Flying?” John asked, looking up in surprise.

“You’re a pilot, right?” O’Neill replied, a faint smile on his face. “That’s what you’d rather be doing. If we can make sure you’re safe on the stick, that’s where you’ll be.”

John had no idea what he’d be flying, but he had learned enough about the SGC’s mission to know that there were aliens and spaceships.

He just hadn’t thought that meant he’d ever be flying one. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe the possibility.

O’Neill didn’t seem to need a response, because he said, “Hang in there. Let Ellison and Sandburg help you get control, and then we’ll talk.”

He strolled out of the infirmary, leaving John to his misery, and his cautious hope.

But that hope faded over the next couple of hours while he waited for Ellison and Sandburg to return. His hearing kept spiking, and smell wasn’t great either.

John never thought he would be missing that small, padded room, but he did right now.

He was vaguely aware that SGSR had returned, and that Dr. Fraiser had insisted that they get cleaned up before she’d see him.

When Ellison cleared medical, he came over to see John. “You okay, Shep?”

“I keep spiking all over the place,” John admitted.

“What sense?” Ellison asked, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, the touch grounding him.

“Hearing,” John managed to get out.

Ellison squeezed his neck, and then quietly walked him through grounding hearing on Ellison’s heartbeat, and smell on the mild scent of soap and skin.

“I’m going to get you squared away,” Ellison promised with enough certainty in his voice that John believed him.

John was glad of the relative quiet of Jim’s truck, his senses slightly easier to manage without being bombarded with unexpected sounds and smells. All he wanted to do was to go to bed and try to sleep, but Ellison said, “Hang out with us a little bit.”

He knew that tone of voice, and he suspected that Ellison wanted to get to the bottom of why John felt so uncomfortable around Sandburg. He’d known it was coming.

“Yeah, if you want,” John said reluctantly, knowing that Ellison wasn’t going to take no for an answer unless John really protested, and he was too tired for a fight.

“I know you’re tired, but let’s have a beer,” Ellison said.

Sandburg was giving Ellison a strange look, so clearly he wasn’t in on what Ellison had planned.

Ellison handed the beers around, and then he sat down and looked at John intently. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I just want the first thing that pops into your head.” John nodded, and he asked, “Do you like Blair?”

John frowned, because there was no reason for him to feel the way he did. “Of course.”

“Why won’t you let Blair help you?” Ellison asked.

“He’s yours,” John blurted out, the certainty that he felt surprising him. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Ellison sighed and looked at Sandburg. “This is all yours, Darwin. I’ll just fuck it up if I try to explain it.”

Sandburg hesitated. “I’m happy to explain, but you might need to go a little further, Jim.”

Ellison turned his attention back to John. “John, if you need Blair’s help, for any reason, you reach out, and you don’t hesitate. I’m not threatened by you, and I’m not worried you’re going to steal Blair from me. You can’t. But I’m going to be really pissed if you don’t accept Blair’s help, because Blair and I are solid.”

John couldn’t explain how much tension left him with those words if he tried. He just knew that it felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from his chest. “Oh, fuck. I don’t—”

They explained about the Sentinel instincts, and Ellison insisted that John wasn’t an imposition, that he and Sandburg and Major Carter all had their own relationships, and John’s presence wasn’t going to mess anything up.

That set John’s mind at ease. He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to live on his own until he got the senses more under control, and he hated thinking that he was fucking things up for Ellison or Sandburg, not after their kindness.

He headed to the basement as soon as he finished his beer, and tried to sleep. He was nearly there when he was jolted by the sound of a horn blaring.

His heart began pounding, and he realized he was hearing _everything_ —the twin heartbeats of Ellison and Sandburg, the sound of the furnace running, the hum of the fridge, and then something just beyond reach—

“Come on, Shep, come back.” John felt a sharp tap on his cheek, not quite a slap, and he gasped as though he had been holding his breath.

“Shit,” he said. “Fucking _shit_.”

“I heard the horn, too,” Ellison said. “I thought it might have gotten to you. Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

John realized that he was shaking, and it was hard to get his breathing under control, and to his horror, he felt tears sting his eyes.

Ellison steered him into the kitchen and sat him down at the kitchen table, then pushed his head between his knees. “Focus on your breathing.”

John tried to follow the order, but everything felt like _too much_. He was never going to get things under control.

“Is everything okay?” Sandburg asked.

“There was a horn,” Ellison said shortly. “It woke me up.” He put a glass in John’s hand. “Drink that.”

“I’m not sure getting him drunk is the answer,” Sandburg said quietly.

“That’s not the plan, Chief,” Ellison replies. “I’m just trying to interrupt the feedback loop. Drink, Shep.”

John threw back the shot of scotch and immediately started to cough. Sandburg pounded him on the back, and John realized that he could breathe again. The taste of scotch was so overwhelming it drowned out everything else.

“Better?” Ellison asked.

“Yeah,” John admitted. “I’m not—this isn’t getting any better.”

His despair felt like a living thing, and John couldn’t help but think that he was never going to get a handle on his senses.

“You can’t think like that, man,” Sandburg said quietly. “You can’t give up.”

“Why not?” John asked. “My life is basically over.”

Sandburg leaned in closer, his blue eyes very intense. “Look at Jim. You can get there, too. You’ve had these senses for what? A few weeks? It took Jim time.”

“I hate this,” John muttered. “I hate everything about this.”

“I did, too,” Ellison admitted. “But I don’t hate it now. Blair’s right. It’s going to take you some time. You want to try to sleep? Or should I put something on TV?”

John shook his head. “I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I’m up,” Ellison replied. “Come on, you need a distraction.”

John ended up drifting off on the couch, and he woke up when he smelled the coffee brewing. Someone had put a blanket over him, and John didn’t remember the last time anyone had taken care of him like this.

“Hey, you hungry?” Ellison asked, poking his head into the living room. “Blair took first shower.”

“Yeah, I could eat,” John admitted. “Sorry about last night.”

Ellison sighed. “John, I know you don’t believe this, but you’re doing better than you think.”

John stared at him, frankly disbelieving.

“I had a base to work from,” Ellison reminded him. “You don’t. I told you, I’m going to get you squared away. Also, please keep in mind that you were kidnapped and tortured. As soon as we get through this promotion thing, I’m making you an appointment with Spencer.”

“Who’s Spencer?” John asked.

“The base shrink I see,” Ellison replied. “He’s helped me, and he understands Sentinels as well as anybody who isn’t one can.”

John winced. “A shrink?”

“It’s mandatory,” Ellison called. “Come get your coffee and breakfast.”

John knew when a subject was closed, and he’d let Ellison run him since rescue. It was something of a relief to give over control to someone who seemed to know what he was doing.

Witness Ellison’s masterful handling the night before, which had released some tension from John, although he still didn’t think he was ever going to get control.

He ate the fried egg sandwich that Ellison handed him, and accepted the cup of coffee. “I appreciate you feeding me.”

“You have to eat,” Ellison said with a smile. “So do we.”

“Still,” John said slowly. “You didn’t have to—”

“No, I suppose we didn’t,” Ellison said cheerfully. “But you’d be miserable staying on the base, and you can’t be by yourself.”

John hesitated. “But—”

“Can it, Shep,” Ellison ordered. “I don’t mind. You can pay it forward someday.”

John subsided at that, and ate his sandwich.

“We don’t have a mission today, at least that we know of, so you can hang out with SGSR,” Ellison said. “The office should be a bit quieter than the infirmary, at least.”

John grimaced. “Right.”

Ellison clapped him on the back. “You’ll be fine.”

John was sunk in misery on the way to the base, and he slunk to the corner of the office Ellison directed him to, and started reading the stack of mission reports, although he wasn’t sure how much was sinking in.

He was trying to keep his senses under control, and yet not end up spiking when there was an unexpected sound.

And then the gate alarm sounded, and the sound pulled an involuntary whimper from him.

“Shep, come on.”

John glanced up to see Ellison standing. Sergeant McConnell had an eager expression on his face that John didn’t understand. “Come with me,” Ellison said. “McConnell, you’re welcome to join us if you like.”

“Do you want me to go get Teal’c, sir?” McConnell asked.

Ellison seemed to think about that, at first nixing the idea, and then telling McConnell to grab him.

John had no idea what was going on, but he had trusted Ellison this far, and everybody seemed excited for whatever was to come. Other than Sandburg, the rest of SGSR followed them to the gym, all of them in a clearly anticipatory mood.

McConnell reached the gym just after they did, with Teal’c in tow. John knew him by sight and reputation, at least a bit, mostly from Carter’s stories the night she’d come over.

“Are you willing to help with a quick demonstration?” Ellison asked him. “Shep, pay attention. You’re up first after this.”

John wasn’t sure what to expect, but Ellison and Teal’c picked up wooden staffs, and they quickly demonstrated how to use them.

And, as promised, John was called up first to go against Ellison, who put a hand on John’s shoulder and leaned in close. “Listen, the trick here is to dial up gradually. We’ll start out slow, and I know you haven’t done this before, but you’ll be fine.”

John had no idea how he was going to avoid spiking or zoning in front of everybody if he was trying to dial up, but he trusted Ellison, and he seemed pretty sure about this. There was an air of excitement in the gym that meant he didn’t fully understand what was going to happen.

Ellison corrected his hold on the staff, and then said, “Remember what I said.”

He moved slowly at first, telegraphing his moves, and then he started to strike faster and harder, which forced John to dial up. To his surprise, instead of spiking or zoning, John felt sharp, in control.

Ellison moved faster yet, and John dialed up again, seeing the play of muscles, the telltale intakes of breath, the small signs that he was going to move right or left or feint.

The world disappeared, his senses were functioning for the first time since he got kidnapped, and John’s muscles were singing.

When Ellison signaled the end of the bout, John was breathing heavily, his t-shirt was stuck to his back with sweat, and his head felt clear.

Ellison grinned at him. “Better?”

“Yes, sir,” John admitted. He felt _so_ much better that he can’t quite believe it. “ _Fuck_.”

Ellison jerked his head. “Take a breather, get a drink of water. Devon, you’re up next.”

John had to admire Ellison’s stamina, because he didn’t seem winded at all, and he sparred with McConnell until the sergeant yielded. And from _there_ , he sparred with Teal’c until his staff flew out of his hands, and John caught it without thinking about it.

“Are you ready to go again?” Ellison asked.

John was appalled. There was no way that Ellison was good for another match. “Against you?”

Ellison’s grin was rueful. “No, I think I’m done for the day. Against Devon.”

“If you think it will help,” John replied, but he already knew that he would. His senses seemed to be under better control than ever before.

“I do,” Ellison replied. “If you get your adrenalin pumping, you’ll feel better, at least for a while.”

He wasn’t wrong. McConnell had more training than John, but John had his senses, and he was honing in. He was just starting to half-zone when Ellison shouted, “Quit dropping your right shoulder, Devon! Shep, don’t dial up too far!”

That brought him back to the here and now, and he focused back in on the sparring session, keeping his senses dialed up, but not so far that he risked a zone or spike.

When he and McConnell called it quits, John knew he was on the edge of physical exhaustion, but he felt exhilarated.

“Hit the showers,” Ellison advised. “Shep, I’m going out to dinner with Sam tonight. Blair can give you a ride home, if you don’t mind.”

After the intervention that clarified his instincts, John didn’t have a problem with that.

“You did really well for a first time out, sir,” McConnell told him when they headed for the showers. “Pretty sure I tripped over my own feet.”

John dredged up a smile. “Thanks. I don’t know that I did all that well.”

“Trust me, you did just fine,” McConnell insisted, dropping the “sir.”

“He’s right,” Ellison said, entering behind them. “You did good today. How do you feel?”

John took a deep breath. “Good. Really good.”

“We’ll probably have to clear it with Janet, but she’ll usually go along with my suggestions when it comes to Sentinels,” Ellison said. “We’ll add sparring to the list of regular activities.”

John couldn’t say that he was disappointed by the idea. Even just to have an hour or two during the day where he could feel like he was in control meant the world to him. “Thanks.”

“It’s part of the job around here,” Ellison replied. “If we don’t stay sharp, people die.”

They got cleaned up, and John was actually able to concentrate on the mission reports when they were back in the office. The rest of the team seemed a little less stressed as well, and Captain Stranger and Lieutenant Drake offered their congratulations.

“You really held your own, sir,” Stranger said enthusiastically. “Not many people are even willing to try.”

John was a little taken aback. “Well, it’s not like Major Ellison gave me much choice.”

“He’s amazing in the field,” Drake said in a low voice. “Just wait until you get to go through the gate with him.”

John winced. “ _If_ I do.”

Stranger shook his head. “Not that it’s my place to say anything, but from what I’ve heard, Major Ellison didn’t think he’d be able to go out in the field, but it turned out he operates best under fire. I think it took a while for him to get his feet under him when he _wasn’t_ being shot at, but in the field? He never had a problem. He took out a ton of Jaffa on his first mission.”

“ _I_ heard that he took out, like, fifteen Jaffa on his second mission,” Drake whispered.

“It was two,” Sandburg said from the doorway, sounding very amused. “And Jim really is that awesome, but I swear the stories grow every time someone tells them.”

McConnell shrugged unrepentantly. “Come on, doc. There was that one mission where he got captured and tortured, and no one could even come close to a body count. There were _pieces_.”

“I’m pretty sure there were also grenades,” Sandburg said firmly. “Don’t scare the major here. He hasn’t even been through the gate yet.”

“It’s not all torture,” Stranger said cheerfully. “Sometimes there are mudslides.”

Sandburg rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing I like all of you. John, you’re with me. The rest of you, we’re off. I’ll see you at the promotion ceremony.”

John didn’t question it, figuring that they were heading home since Ellison was going out with Major Carter. Instead, Sandburg led him away from the office, toward the base living quarters.

John figured that was where he would have wound up if Ellison and Sandburg hadn’t opened up their basement to him.

Well, that or the infirmary or a padded room.

“Teal’c agreed to teach you some meditation techniques,” Sandburg said conversationally. “They helped Jim a bit, so I thought they might help you, too.”

John had never meditated once in his life. “Seriously?”

“Jaffa use meditation the same way we do sleep,” Sandburg replied. “And I know you haven’t been getting much of that.”

John felt a spike of shame. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

Sandburg looked at him, and then he stopped, putting a hand on John’s chest. “Listen to me, okay? I’m only going to say this once.”

John swallowed and nodded.

“I carry my own share of blame for what happened to Jim, and indirectly, what happened to you,” Sandburg stated baldly. “I fucked up. Jim would argue with me, but he’s not here, so my version of events goes.”

John wasn’t clear where this was going. “Okay?”

“You look at Jim, and you see someone who has it all together, right?” Sandburg demanded. “He’s got a friend, and a nice house, and a great girlfriend.”

John wasn’t really interested in the girlfriend part, but he couldn’t say that. “Yeah.”

“He worked really hard, but what you don’t see, what you _can’t_ see, is that he turned a corner when we found you,” Sandburg said earnestly. “Jim has to hold it together for you, because if you see him as this pillar of strength, then you’ll know you can get there, too. And that’s the thing, John. _You can_ , because Jim was where you are _right now_ not that long ago.”

Ellison had been saying as much in one way or another from the beginning, but there was something about how Sandburg said it now that made John believe him. “I believe you,” he said hoarsely.

“You’re going to go out in the field again,” Sandburg insisted, “because it’s going to be good for you. I don’t know if you’ll fly again, but if it’s possible we’ll make it happen. But John? You’re going to be okay.”

John had believed Ellison when he said it, and he believed Sandburg now, but he wasn’t sure if it was because Ellison gave him permission, or what, but he felt those words sink into his very bones.

Ellison had said that he’d be pissed if John didn’t go to Sandburg for help, and he was glad he had that permission now, because John…

Well, John _got it_ in a way that he hadn’t before. “Thanks, doc.”

Sandburg treated him to a blinding grin. “Better. Come on, Teal’c is waiting for us, and once we get done with meditating, I know a great burger joint.”

And for a brief moment, John let himself believe that he really would be okay.


End file.
